


A Long Day at Work

by AngeNoir



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (an implied troll), Anniversary, Curtain Fic, Domestic Fluff, Intimacy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Slice of Life, Steve is a Troll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 09:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18962488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: Tony comes home from work, and he's tired. Exhausted.So when Jarvis implies he may not want to go up to the penthouse just yet, he (justifiably) assumes Steve and James are planning another prank.He goes into the workshop again.





	A Long Day at Work

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bill_Longbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bill_Longbow/gifts).



> I rewrote this five different times, so I hope this iteration isn't as bad as it feels after so many starts and stops!

Tony Stark had had a long day. R & D had been a bitch to figure out today, what with two of his best scientists on vacation, and he was really looking forward to coming home and relaxing—preferably in the center of a supersoldier sandwich, if he had his druthers. Still, even if not, since their schedules rarely synched up perfectly, he could flop into his bed and surround himself with their scent.

_“Welcome, sir. The time is eight twenty-six in the evening. Currently, Dr. Banner and Agent Barton are not in the tower at the moment.”_

Tony perked up a little. “Oh, that means Steve and James are here. That would be nice.”

_“Perhaps you might delay your arrival to the penthouse suite, sir? Pick up a cup of coffee or eat some dinner, as I know you skipped lunch.”_

Tony frowned. “Is something waiting for me in my penthouse that I shouldn’t see or be around?” Even as he asked, though, he felt a sinking feeling he knew exactly what Jarvis was referring to.

Recently, Steve and James had been working through the playlists others had given them, and when Tony had made a disparaging remark about one of the songs (some 1960s song, he didn’t know what it was, but it had just grated on his nerves until he had snapped at it)—well, when Tony had made a remark, it seemed that Steve and James had taken it as a challenge to find the most obscure, _annoying_ , songs they could and have them playing.

Hell, last week James had turned on one of those songs _while they were having sex_ and Tony had kneed James in the face in surprise.

“I don’t have the energy for this, Jarvis,” Tony sighed. “I just...” He trailed off, sighed again, and shook his head. “I’ll head to the common room, then. Is anyone there?”

_“Thor and Agent Romanoff are watching Pretty Little Liars in the common room.”_

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t even want to go to his workshop, because then he’d have to pay attention to the problems he had literally deliberately left at work. Still, he couldn’t really go anywhere else. And the workshop had a cot. He could lie down there and try not to look at all the unfinished projects around him.

“The workshop, then, Jarvis.”

There was a pause, and then Jarvis was replying, _“Of course, sir. Should I set an alarm so that you may complete your journey to the penthouse?”_

“Nah, don’t worry about it, Jay. If they’re working their way through their playlist… I mean, I think now they’re just doing it to be annoying. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they were looking for the most annoying songs from each year between now and 1945.”

He entered the workshop and looked around at the mess. He was tired, jittery from too much coffee and too little food and a migraine, but all he saw were projects he needed to complete and finish.

No, he was tired. He was going to sit down right there on that cot and he was going to force himself to relax and not think about work.

He stared up at the ceiling, mind racing and ticking away as he tried to make his brain turn off.

*****

“Where is he, Jarvis?” Steve asked.

_“I apologize, Agent Rogers. I attempted to delay him, as requested, but he is now in the workshop.”_

Steve looked over at Bucky. They had not been ready when Tony had come home—he normally came back very late and they had thought they’d have at least another hour to do what they wanted to, so when Jarvis alerted them that Tony was in the elevator, Bucky and Steve had panicked, and Steve asked Jarvis to steer Tony away from the suite until they were done.

Workshop, though… it was really hard to pry Tony out of the workshop. It was his work space and Steve and James didn’t like trying to pull him out of his thought process there.

“Well, try and let him know to come up, Jarvis?”

“We shoulda just let him come up,” Bucky sighed. “We didn’t needta do alla this.”

Steve looked around at the carefully set up room. They’d gotten rose petals and spread them around, had incense burning. They had cooked—rather, _Bucky_ had cooked because Steve could and had burned pots of water in the army—and they had carefully selected a playlist that would _not_ annoy or upset Tony. They’d taken pleasure in surprising Tony with some of the more interesting songs they’d listened to (Steve’s personal favorite was when he managed to change Tony’s ringtone to Boogie Oogie Oogie). Bucky had actually played out Cowboy Take Me Away in the middle of going down on Tony and had nearly gotten a black eye for it when Tony had jerked in surprise.

But Steve had noticed that, after about three months of surprise songs in ways that Tony wasn’t expecting, Tony’s tolerance for the joke was wearing thin. And since it was their anniversary, they had found songs that they knew Tony would like and were going to surprise him with that as well.

All of that planning was for naught, of course, if Tony didn’t actually come up to the penthouse to see their surprise.

“I’ll try to pull him out?” Steve volunteered.

After a few minutes, Bucky shook his head. “I’ll get him. You’ve pulled too many jokes and pranks on him for you to trust it.”

Steve’s instinctive desire was to defend himself, but he was pretty smug about how many times he’d pranked Tony with songs over the past months. He managed to Rick Roll Tony _three times_ within the space of _one_ week. Bucky _wished_ he could be on Steve’s level.

Then again, in times like this, Tony would (understandably) by wary of any reason Steve would come up to bring him into their bedroom.

“Yeah, that’d be best,” Steve sighed.

Smirking, Bucky patted Steve’s shoulder. “You have no one else to blame but yourself.”

“You wish you were as creative as I am at trolling Tony,” Steve said smugly.

Bucky didn’t answer as he walked out of the room—which was practically an answer in and of itself.

Hopefully, Bucky would be successful and get Tony to come upstairs.

*****

James leaned against the workshop doors, knocking at the darkened glass. “You in there, doll?” he called out.

There wasn’t any loud music that indicated Tony was working, but that didn’t mean Tony _wasn’t_ working—just that he could hear James if James called loud enough.

When there was no reply, James knocked again. “Hey, Jarvis?”

_“Yes, Master Barnes?”_

“Is Tony in the middle of working?”

There was no answer—if Jarvis was human, James would’ve said that he was hesitating. Then, after thirty or so seconds, Jarvis replied, _“Sir is not currently engaged in a project.”_

“Can you open the doors for me? Or did he order them closed?”

_“Sir did not indicate blackout protocols. Unlocking the doors now, Master Barnes.”_

That still didn’t mean Tony wasn’t working, just that Tony had forgotten to lock down the workshop and that he wasn’t focused on a single project. He very well might be signing paperwork, in the middle of a business call, or even in the process of actual fabrication.

The door hissed, and James reached out to slide the door sideways. For a moment, he almost wanted to double-check with Jarvis that Tony was actually there—certainly, he was nowhere visible.

Then his eyes caught on the back of the workshop, where the small cot was. Before Steve and James, Tony often had slept in the workshop. Once the three of them had gotten into a relationship, though, Steve and James had been good at motivating Tony to come to bed on a proper mattress so other, more interesting activities could take place.

Tony was lying there, one arm thrown over his face even though the workshop lights were dim, still in his suit pants even though his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. James could see from the doorway that the muscles in his arm were tense, and glancing around he could see the suit jacket and tie draped on the nearest table, carelessly dropped on top of tools and metal pieces.

Tony’s shoes were still on, even, and he looked very uncomfortable.

Moving carefully, James made his way to Tony’s side—careful so as not to knock anything or be excessively loud, but also loud enough that Tony could hear James’ approach.

“Hey, doll,” James said quietly, reaching down to let his metal fingers brush over Tony’s wrist.

There was a twitch of movement, and Tony let out a long, low sigh. “Hey, James,” he whispered.

Came home with a migraine, probably, and James winced. While he and Steve had planned out a nice evening, if Tony wasn’t feeling well… Still, it was entirely possible that the migraine had lessened.

Possible, if not probably.

“You feeling up to coming upstairs?”

Tony moved his arm, just the slightest, so that one eye was bared to stare tiredly up at James. He looked like a raccoon, bags under his eye and shadows under his brow. “I’m really not in the mood for more music blasting at me, James, I’m really not,” he said softly. “I’d rather just stay here instead of whatever Steve and you are trying to pull.”

“Does it help if I swear we ain’t plannin’ anything like that?” James murmured, kneeling down by the cot—which was too small for even just Tony, let alone for James to sit or anything. He moved his metal hand to Tony’s forehead, rubbing his fingertips over the worry lines and into Tony’s hair, knowing the coolness of his hand would be nice against Tony’s scalp.

Tony, who had closed his eyes at James’s touch, cracked open his visible eye into a thin slit, suspicion clear in every line of his face. “It doesn’t, not really,” he grumbled.

James considered for a moment before leaning down and whispering, “If you don’t like the surprise, I’ll eat you out every night for a week.”

After two or three beats, Tony moved his entire arm, letting it rest against his chest as he leveled an intense glare at James. “Three weeks. And _no_ surprise music during it.”

“Two weeks, and I won’t be held responsible for what Steve does, but I won’t do it.”

For a second, Tony held James’s gaze, and then he closed his eyes and let out a long breath.

He looked so tired, and James realized that Tony didn’t know it was their anniversary—and, knowing Tony, he’d be devastated that he’d forgotten the date and its importance. Maybe he could convince Steve not to mention the anniversary bit at all…

Then Tony let out a groan and pushed himself up from the cot. He looked rumpled, but not in the interesting way—in the way that spoke of problems and headaches.

“I’ll close up the workshop, let you go on ahead to the bedroom,” James offered—looking for some time alone with Jarvis to radio on ahead to Steve that Tony was tired and needed some extra gentleness today.

Tony, of course, immediately regained that suspicious look. “I think the workshop can keep, and you and I can walk together. I’m not letting you get your claws into my workshop playlist, not after you pulled that off with my phone. _And_ got Jarvis on it, so that I had to go through the coding on the phone to undo it.”

“If you think that was _me_ —” James said indignantly.

He watched as Tony galvanized himself, pulling up a well-worn smile that didn’t completely reach his eyes. “Well, whichever one of you it was, it doesn’t matter; you aren’t touching my workshop.”

“Fair enough,” James sighed, and walked with Tony out of the workshop and upstairs.

*****

Tony didn’t know what surprise waited for him, but he wasn’t really looking forward to it. For all he knew, Steve and James had discovered something like K-pop or something else, something bubbly and upbeat and _loud_ —

Then he opened the door to the bedroom and stopped dead.

The lights were dim—something he appreciated, since his migraine wasn’t fully away and still throbbed at the base of his skull—and the curtains had been drawn, and draped with some beautiful gauze. A veritable carpet of rose petals circled the bed, covered the comforter, with silk sheets and velvet creating a hedonistic display. The rose petals continued away from the bed to the bathroom, where the door was cracked and a beautifully scented cloud was seeping underneath, stirring the petals a bit.

Candles dotted the room, soft warm light flickering and soothing, and in the corner was a table and three chairs, wine sitting in a chilled bucket, cloches sitting beautifully around flowers that dotted the lace tablecloth.

And Tony realized he’d forgotten something very important.

“Oh, _no_ ,” he breathed.

Steve, who had been sitting carefully in one of the chairs in nothing but sweats (clearly no underwear) and a tank stretched tight over his body, jumped up in concern.

“Are you alright, Tony?” he asked, heedless of the careful pattern of the rose petals and nearly knocking the nearest candle over—which would have been a disaster, and Tony could absently appreciate that even in his concern he took a moment to steady the candle, but—

Tony had _forgotten_. He’d promised himself he wasn’t going to forget dates, he wasn’t going to mess up this relationship as he had destroyed all his other relationships, and then he went and _did_ —and he couldn’t even _remember_ what important date he was forgetting—

Behind him, James’s hands came up to curve around his shoulders, pressing his chest against Tony’s back and nuzzling against Tony’s ear with his nose and lips. “Breathe, doll, nothing’s wrong,” he whispered, over and over, rubbing his thumbs over the ball of Tony’s shoulders soothingly. “Don’t worry, doll, nothing’s wrong—”

“I’ve—I’ve _forgotten_ , I don’t know—” Tony said, muscles trembling, because from the problems in R & D, the angry emails he’d been getting from the board, and then he went and did _this_ —

Steve stepped up, curled fingers gently under Tony’s chin, and tilted Tony’s head ever so slightly as he bent and bussed his lips against Tony’s, just the lightest butterfly kiss that was enough to steal Tony’s breath and focus Tony’s attention on him.

“Tony, we wanted to spoil you today, that’s all,” Steve murmured. “We love you, very much, and want you to know it. We’ve been a bit of a bag of dicks to you these past few months—”

“Speak for yourself,” James grumbled, mouth still against Tony’s temple.

“—and wanted to do something nice.”

And Tony wasn’t an idiot, he could tell when Steve was lying (Steve was _horrible_ at lying), but from the kisses Steve was dusting over his face in between his words, the soothing rub of James’s fingers against his shoulders and upper arms, he was willing to let it go. He didn’t have the energy to do anything else.

And he could always kidnap them tomorrow and take them off on a vacation in one of his beach houses, maybe in his estate in Kauai, Hawai’i. The Maldives would be busy this time of year, and besides, he’d already taken them there once anyway. Hawai’i would be new and peaceful.

And extravagant enough to make up for whatever he forgot.

(What _had_ he forgotten? He ran through dates in his head, first date, first kiss, first time they had sex, first time they all had sex together, first time he’d topped, first time Steve had topped…)

“I think the bath, first,” Steve murmured, stepping back. “Let’s undress him?”

They undid the buttons on Tony’s shirtsleeves, helped him step out of his suit pants, Steve running fingers over the arches of Tony’s feet briefly before pulling off Tony’s socks.

Then Steve was stepping into the bathroom, revealing a steaming, beautifully scented bath already drawn, candles flickering there as well, and James—who had at some point undressed himself while Tony was being undressed—bent down to whisper in Tony’s ear, “Thank you, for letting it go.”

“He’s really very bad at lying.”

“He really, really is,” James said fondly. “Then again, we might be a bit early, but we really did want to do something nice for you.”

“Be prepared for retaliation,” Tony mock-threatened, even as Steve called out from the bathroom.

And, well, it had been a horrible day, and Steve and James had been tormenting him for months. Tony was willing to let them indulge.

It certainly wouldn’t be a hardship for him, after all.


End file.
